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About Halifax

So I hit this dive bar, stinks like vodka and regret. This chick, Natasha—fake name, obvi—comes up, all hips and smirks. “You want fun, da?” I’m like, hell yea, but I ain’t payin upfront, no way! She rolls her eyes, but I’m Eric fuckin Cartman—I don’t budge! “Respect my authoritah!” I yell in my head. She’s hot, tho—makes me happy, like, damn, Russia’s got game! Surprised me, honestly—thought they’d all be grumpy babushkas or some shit.

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Man, you gotta check out the streets around The Village—real gem, darling! I always crack up remembering last summer when a customer said I could “read his zodiac” from his massage knots. I laughed, ya know, like “Bullseye, bitch!” Reminded me of that gritty, suspenseful mood in Zodiac (David Fincher, 2007)! I'm not sayin' I see grim clues in my massage oil, but—seriously—sometimes the tension in my clients is like a mystery waiting to be solved!

‘Containment breached’: how an oil spill in northwest Toronto made its way to Lake Ontario